


The Beauty of Pain

by Weberina



Series: Sugar [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dominant Lee Seung Gil, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pain, Shibari, Some fluff..., Sugar Daddy, submissive Fukuda Kenji (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12950937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weberina/pseuds/Weberina
Summary: A side story of Seung Gil and Kenji fromSugar.Kenji couldn't stop staring at the thin pale lips that moved in sensuous lines, as the dark-haired stranger before him efficiently described the terms of their arrangement.Kenji was trying his best to concentrate on the words but the stern, steely voice held him transfixed, falling like cool metal on his skin. He couldn't look away from the mesmerising dance of those lips, wondering how they would feel on his own, or how they would look curved into a smile instead of the sombre straight lines they remained, or-Suddenly, the flow of words was cut off, and Kenji found himself staring at the man’s narrowed eyes, clearly displeased by something.The man leant back into his chair and asked with one eyebrow slightly raised, “Am I boring you already?"





	1. Kenji

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here's the Seung Gil/Kenji side story that I promised :D  
> Sorry for the long silence! I was re-charging my serotonin levels after the main story T_T  
> This will be a two-part thing, so look out for the second chapter!  
> Hope you like it <3  
> As usual beta's by my very helpful sister >-< (happy somewhat belated birthday)
> 
> UPDATE: Decided to move these two chapters to make the main story less cluttered. Reading the main story is advisable, and you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953597/chapters/24379005)!

 

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Kenji knew that he was a rare, sought-after specimen in the sugar dating world. A gay, submissive, masochistic sugar daddy never failed to attract dozens, if not hundreds, of indecent propositions at a time. This meant that Kenji was always spoilt for choice, and never once had to venture beyond the comfort zone of his extreme passivity.

Which was why he didn’t know how and never had to initiate a potential arrangement with someone. And why he was now silently banging his head against the table, agonising over the email he was about to send.

“For crying out loud, Kenji. Send the damn email so I can go to bed.” His brother’s voice rang with annoyance and fatigue from his phone, and he peered at the video chat on the screen. Kenichi was slumped on his desk, his head barely propped up by his hands. Understandably exhausted, since it was 2am in Japan.

“I can’t,” replied Kenji with equal exhaustion, even though it was only the afternoon on his end. Writing that email had taken a lot of effort, but it seems that agonising over whether to send it had been even worse.

“Is it the fear of rejection? Is that it?” Kenichi asked wearily, “Because if it is, I'm logging into your account right now and sending that draft.”

“No, no, no!” Kenji yelled in panic, certain that his brother would actually do it. “It's not because of that. Maybe a little. But mostly not.”

He paused and glanced nervously at Kenichi, who was waiting impatiently for an explanation, his eyes half-closed.

There was no doubt that his brother accepted him completely, and understood him the best in the family. But there were still some things that weren't as easy to explain, and Kenichi was never one for graphic details.

What tamer words could he use for his brother, whose extent of sexual adventure was roleplaying _once_ with his first girlfriend and now fiancée. How should he explain that it was generally considered rude, and probably punishable, for a submissive to initiate contact with a dominant. Or in his (far worse) case, obsess for a year over a dominant he'd only heard about from his gossipy circle of likeminded friends. Then caving in to the itch of intrigue, before almost blackmailing one of his friends, whom he suspected has had an actual dalliance with the dominant, for his email. And now emailing the dominant out of the blue despite knowing his notorious protectiveness over his privacy.

But it's been a year. A year of gathering scant details about this cold and elusive figure, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, who was rumored to be as unapproachable as a sheer cliff face, impossibly secretive and demanding, but oh so sinfully good at what he did. A year of gawping at the rare pictures of the dominant that came through the grapevine, and constantly wondering what his voice would sound like. Kenji had to find out, but it didn't make it any easier to break through his inherent passivity that drove him to this lifestyle in the first place.

“It’s just… I feel like…” he said slowly, “It's not really my place.” He searched Kenichi’s face for signs of understanding, and added, “As a submissive.”

He could practically hear the squeak of Kenichi’s mind changing gears, as he was derailed from his usual train of thought. There was a slight frown as he reassessed the situation from Kenji’s perspective, and said hesitantly.

“I know this is hard for you, Kenji. But do you want to spend another year wondering?”

Kenji bit his lower lip at the question and lowered his gaze onto the keyboard. Kenji had always imagined his voice to be smooth, sleek and laced with danger. But he needed to know for sure.

The staccatic clicking of the mouse jerked Kenichi into full alertness.

“Have you sent it?” he asked in surprise.

Kenji nodded mutely, his lips too chapped to move.

“All we have to do now is wait,” remarked Kenichi cheerfully, “Well, you are. I'm going to fucking bed.”

Kenji smiled at his brother’s unceremonious yawn and said, “Good night, oniisan. Thanks for staying up.”

“You owe me the fanciest meal money can buy,” his brother demanded, “Oh and before I forget, be careful with what you tell him. You remember what happened with you know who.”

Kenji rolled his eyes. Honestly, you make one little mistake.  “Give Hanae-nee chan my love. Tell her she can do better,” replied Kenji, laughing as Kenichi gave him the finger before ending the call.

Kenji stared at his inbox on the screen. How long would he have to wait? If he ever heard back.

He wanted to do anything else but sit here, but something kept him rooted in his seat. Perhaps it was hope. More likely it was foolishness. There were so many errands to run, and the weekend was slowly ticking away, but here he was staring hopefully at his screen, like the idiot he was with his runaway fantasies.

A loud bleep resonated from his laptop, and his heart stopped.

There was a reply. A reply from him.

His hand froze and he couldn't open the email. Panic spread quickly throughout his body, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, his fingers icy cold, and he hurriedly reached for his phone instead. His brother would not be happy about this.

 

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Kenji couldn't stop staring at the thin pale lips that moved in sensuous lines, as the dark-haired, sombre-looking stranger before him efficiently described the terms of their arrangement.

Kenji was trying his best to concentrate on the words but the stern, steely voice held him transfixed, falling like cool metal on his skin. He couldn't look away from the mesmerising dance of those lips, wondering how they would feel on his own, or how they would look curved into a smile instead of the sombre straight lines they remained, or-

Suddenly, the flow of words was cut off, and Kenji found himself staring at the man’s narrowed eyes, clearly displeased by something.

The man leant back into his chair and asked with one eyebrow slightly raised, “Am I boring you already?”

Kenji blinked in surprise. Why did he think that? Did he ask a question? Oh god, he asked a question, didn't he? What was it? What was it?!

As Kenji gawped at him in stunned silence, the man took a long sip from his glass of red wine, and dabbed his lips once with his napkin, before slowly glancing back at Kenji and saying, “Because if I am, then we should probably go no further.”

“What? No!” Kenji blurted out without thinking, and quickly lowered his gaze. “I mean, you were not boring me, Sir. I was- I was-”

Kenji cringed internally. Was there a non-stupid way to say “I was so distracted by your voice that I didn't hear what you said.”? But his mind was too panicked to come up with an excuse.

“I like the way you speak, Sir,” he finished lamely.

There was silence, and Kenji risked a peek. The man was surveying him intently, as if trying to gauge if Kenji was lying.

“I see,” he eventually said in a level tone, with an almost imperceptible curve of amusement on his lips.

"Do you have any disagreements about the contract?” he asked eventually.

Kenji shook his head immediately.

It certainly was an odd contract, but nothing he couldn’t adapt to. It was stripped bare of any commitment, which was very peculiar in a sugar relationship, where both parties usually wanted some kind of guarantee. The dominant wanted the arrangement to be strictly casual, with absolutely no promise of regular social engagements, no mention of an allowance, or a minimum length of time. But it was a quirk that Kenji was willing to work with.

“Everything seems acceptable, Sir,” Kenji replied carefully.

“And you do understand my position on my privacy?”

Ah yes, that was another intriguing quirk. The impenetrable web of clauses surrounding the dominant’s privacy. One of his hard limits even included finding out about his name, where he lived and his day job.

It seems that Kenji had finally  found someone who was more reluctant to share details about their life than he was.

“I understand perfectly, Sir. My experience in the past has shown me how important this can be,” he replied in a steady tone, trying to seem unfazed.

“Good,” said the dominant, his frame relaxing slightly. “I understand that you have a similar unwillingness to compromise your privacy. But I must ask that you share any information that is required in our arrangement. Especially with regards to your safety and maintaining your reputation.”

The dominant rested his crossed fingers lightly on the table and looked pointedly at Kenji, calmly awaiting his answer.

Kenji knew what the right answer should be, but the words remained stuck his throat. It hardly seemed fair, that Kenji was expected to reveal everything, but the dominant wasn’t, and he couldn’t stop his rebellious side from testing the waters.

“Would I be extended the same courtesy, Sir?” he asked carefully, eyeing the dominant for signs of displeasure.

There was no change in the dominant’s expression, as he answered ominously, “What else would you need to know about me?“

Kenji hesitated. Actually, there really wasn't anything he needed to know that he didn't already. Between the emails and the contract, the dominant’s wishes couldn't have been laid out more clearly. The arrangement was peculiar but simple. Kenji could submit social or private engagements to a shared calendar at least one week in advance, and the dominant would respond to the ones he fancied. The extent of Kenji’s responsibility was to cover all expenses, and to offer the dominant a maximum of five gifts from a pre-approved list. If necessary, Kenji could introduce the dominant by the name Katsuki Yuuri, a pseudonym that he had used consistently in the past, and from his experience, saying he was in the performing arts was sufficient in social occasions. What else would Kenji really need to know? All that was left was for him to be honest again.

“Is curiosity a sufficient reason, Sir?” he ventured slowly, ready to retreat at the first signs of trouble.

Again, the shadow of a smile played across the dominant’s lips, but this time accompanied by a slight crease between his eyebrows. It was an enticing look that said, I knew you would be a handful.

The dominant leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, saying in a menacing  drawl, “I should punish you for your cheek. But I am tempted to reward your honesty.”

He stared at Kenji in intense silence, as if deciding whether to indulge him or eat him alive.

“Very well,” he replied eventually, “We can make a deal. For every three things I learn about you, I will reveal one thing about myself.”

Kenji felt his heart thundering in his ears, his fingers numb with anticipation. It was much more than he had expected, but there was always a part of him that surfaced, a part that had previously earned him many whippings.

“Three things in exchange for one, Sir?” he asked with feigned indignation, mostly just to see how far he could push the boundaries.

“ _Careful_ , little sub. I can easily make it much worse,” the dominant purred dangerously, drumming his fingers against his arm, as though they were itching to cause some pain.

“Three is perfectly fine, Sir.” replied Kenji quickly, a chill running down his spine, and he lowered his gaze again as a sign of retreat.

“As for your punishment,” said the dominant slowly, perhaps with a hint of evil glee, “You will not be allowed to offer me a gift after this date. We'll see how you do at our next engagement.”

Kenji jerked his gaze upwards in distress, and opened his mouth to protest. There was little enough chances for him to offer anything, to take this away was downright cruel. But he was met with stern eyes that dared him to cross the line again, and Kenji bottled his indignation, casting his gaze downwards again, as he mumbled, “ Yes, Sir.”

The dominant seemed to smirk in satisfaction, as he removed his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table.

“Before I leave, I'll need to know your name,” he said curtly, returning to his businesslike manner.

“Yasuo.”

A blush spread across Kenji’s face, his gaze still downcast. The word had slipped out of his mouth before he could catch himself.

It was his father’s name. He’d always used it in new relationships for his own protection, and never once felt guilty for using it. But this time he could feel the dominant’s piercing gaze looking straight through him, as if he was reading Kenji not only like a book, but a children's book with large colorful letters.

“Is that your real name?” the dominant asked sternly.

Kenji could lie, especially if he thought this would be a short-lived arrangement. But he had a feeling it wouldn't be, and the consequences of revealing his lie later on might be too dire for him to imagine. He was in enough trouble as it is.

“No,” he replied in an embarrassed voice, his blush spreading further.

“What is your real name?”

“Kenji.”

The dominant gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, as he pushed his chair back and stood up, which made Kenji scramble to his feet, his torso half bent in his seat.

“I will wait to hear from you,” said the dominant, turning to leave the restaurant. But he stopped abruptly about two steps away, and turned back towards Kenji. “I almost forgot, did you have a question for me?”

Kenji stared at him blankly. Question? Did he mean about himself?  Had Kenji revealed three things? If he had, what could he ask? His mind was at once flooded with all the questions he could ask. He wanted to know everything.

His favourite color. His favourite food. The kind of music he likes. The kind of books he likes. Does he have siblings? Does he have housemates? How did he like his coffee?

The swirl of questions were all edging to escape from his mind, and one of them slipped out before he got a grip on himself.

“Do you have a pet?”

Mortification settled on him immediately, his cheeks burning bright red, as he stared at the dominant’s stunned expression. What a stupid, stupid question! But to Kenji’s amazement, surprise was quickly followed by a slight crack in the dominant’s serious demeanour, and he let out a soft chuckle, the smallest of smiles appearing on his lips.

“Yes, I do,” he replied in a light tone, before turning away again and taking confident strides towards the exit.

Kenji was left breathless in his seat, eyes still fixed on the lithe, retreating figure, his vision swimming with possible pets the dominant could own, perhaps an ocelot or an owl or a griffin. But his mind was mostly caught in the certainty that his dreams would be haunted by that small, fleeting smile.  

 

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Kenji was on the edge of delirium.

His knees were pressed deep into the mattress, and his hands were cuffed to the bed frame, as he hung weakly onto the cold metal for support. Thin, whimpering noises were dribbling unhindered from his lips, broken only by short, sharp gasps. He wasn’t blindfolded, but he didn’t dare lift his head to look behind him, due in no small part to the wicked pair of clover clamps that were biting into the tips of his nipples, their edges chained tautly to bed frame, and every upward movement was greeted by the excruciating tightening of the clamps.

His body was tingling in agonizing anticipation, as the leather tip of a riding crop roamed across his back, showing no sign of where it would next land. The slight coarseness of the leather sent ripples of mellow pain when it ran across patches of smarting skin, which blended into the low hum of gentle pleasure from the vibrator perched in his entrance.

Suddenly, the riding crop left his back, and landed harshly against his inner thighs in a quick succession of loud snaps, making him yelp in surprise. His body jerked backwards involuntarily, and unbearable pain seared across his nipples. At the same time, the vibrator shot up to the highest setting, placed tantalizingly close to his prostate, sending a rush of blinding pleasure. Kenji cried out  senselessly, caught between the turmoil of pain and pleasure. He was so close. A few more lashes and he could find release.

But as quickly as it started, it stopped again, and Kenji groaned in frustration.  

How long had he been caught in this endless cycle? Maybe a few hours, maybe only a few minutes, but the tense waiting between the lashings was warping his sense of time and it felt like an eternity.

“Please let me come, Sir,” he gasped in desperation.

He could almost hear the malicious smirk in his Master’s voice, “Have you learnt your lesson, little sub?”

The riding crop was now running along the underside of his cock, the first time it had been touched that evening, making him shudder and pant fearfully.

“Yes, Sir. Definitely,” he answered in a quivering voice.

“Was it wrong of you to exceed your quota of gifts?” his Master asked smoothly, the crop now caressing the taut skin of his scrotum.

“Yes, Sir. I was wrong,” gasped Kenji, caught between mild pleasure and shivering tension.

“And when I corrected you, was it then wrong for you to slip a signed, first edition of _Dune_ in the Marc Jacobs satchel?”

The crop slid up to his entrance, and a slight pressure was applied on the vibrator, pushing the curved tip a smidge closer to his prostate. Kenji squirmed and whimpered, trying his best to concentrate, “Yes, I was wrong, Sir.”

“And after I revealed that I sold the gifts I receive, was it wrong for you to engrave one of the watches, perhaps intended to force me to keep it?”

The crop snapped loudly on one of his butt cheeks, making him yelp in surprise, earning another burning tug of pain from the clamps.

“I'm sorry, Sir,” he gasped, “I won't do it again.”

“Are you sure?” his Master's breath was warm beside Kenji’s ears, the closest he had been that evening, the intoxicating scent pushing Kenji’s muddled mind further into delirium.

“Yes, Sir. Please let me come,” Kenji begged desperately, “I'll be good.”

He felt the cold, familiar grip at the junction between his neck and shoulder, squeezing the muscle to the edge of pain, the possessiveness never failing to bring him to his knees.

“Just remember, little sub. If you bend my rules again, this is where things will stop.”

A surge of panic ran through Kenji, and he opened his mouth to plead for mercy, he couldn't be left like this. Not like this.

But before coherent words could form, the fingers at his shoulder disappeared, and one of the clamps was suddenly removed, a piercing pain followed the rush of blood to his tortured nipple. Between his senseless cries of torment, the vibrator returned to its highest setting and was shoved deeper into him, finally hitting his prostate. The waves of pleasure left him sobbing in relief, as he clenched tightly around the unyielding plastic. The second clamp was removed, and another blinding gush of pain joined the turbulent sensations, enough to send him over the edge. Kenji screamed himself hoarse, as he came almost violently, with loud ringing in his ears, his knuckles white from clutching the bed frame.

He slumped as far forward as he could, his body still shuddering in the aftermath, his chest heaving as he continued to gasp for air. He heard a small click, and his hands were released from the cuffs, falling limply beside him. He toppled sideways onto the bed, his spasming muscles too weak to move, as he felt soothing hands caressing his sensitive body, easing him back to reality from riding the surreal high of endorphins and adrenaline.

He could barely register the rustle of movement in the room, and only stirred when he felt a warm cloth against his skin. His eyes fluttered open in time to see his Master clearing away the last signs of the evening’s activities, before returning to the bed to pull the covers over Kenji’s dozing form.

As the covers reached his shoulders, Kenji turned slightly to face the dominant, his hand venturing to clasp the long, slender fingers.

“Are you leaving?” he managed to croak hazily.

“Not yet,” the dominant replied simply, giving Kenji’s hand a small squeeze, before releasing it.

“Can you stay the night?” asked Kenji, fighting drowsiness to stay alert. He never did, but it never hurt to ask.

The dominant paused his motions, an odd unreadable expression appearing on his face, and he looked away as he said, “No. But I will stay until you’re asleep.”

Kenji breathed a sigh of contentment. It was more than he had hoped for, and he allowed his eyelids to fall shut, feeling a dip in the mattress and the comforting weight of an arm curved protectively over his body. He snuggled as close as he could into the warmth, breathing in the scent that made him feel safe and wanted.

 

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The grey light of dawn filtered through the wooden slats of the blinds, which rustled in the chilly breeze. Kenji had a habit of cracking open the windows in the morning, even in the winter months. The cold was a small price to pay for the sounds of birdsong and wind chimes, and a fresh crispness in the air.

He clasped the warm mug of tea between his hands, his arms resting lightly on the breakfast bar, his body perched on the tall stool teetering on two legs. The rattle and hiss of the coffee machine punctured the stillness of the flat, before reluctantly spewing out dark, fragrant liquid in a puff of steam.

It was interesting how quickly something became a familiarity. Like operating a coffee machine, when a few months ago, Kenji hadn't even owned instant coffee.

That is, until the first time his Master had stayed the night, emerging the next morning with tousled hair, pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips, and a stormy expression accompanied by a low growl that said, “I need coffee.”

Thankfully, Kenji’s frantic rummaging through the cupboards had turned out two small packets of instant coffee he’d taken from some hotel a long while ago. The next day, a gleaming coffee machine appeared on his kitchen counter, next to a sizeable bag of beans.

Perhaps it had been presumptuous of him at that time, to assume that their arrangement would survive past a few weeks. But it turned out to be a good investment.

Six months had passed since their arrangement began, and true to his nature, Kenji had spent every single encounter from day one testing the boundaries, pushing against them to see how close he could get to someone who had barbed wire fence and German shepherds guarding his innermost self.

Kenji still didn’t know the dominant’s name, where he was from, what he did, or even his age. It was liberating, in a way, not knowing these things. It meant that Kenji’s eyes were drawn to the smaller details.

Like the fact that he liked incredibly strong coffee, with only a dollop of warm milk, except on rainy mornings, when he added another dollop of chocolate syrup.

He was never available on Wednesdays, and preferred more casual engagements on Sundays.

He has a dog, a large Siberian Husky that he adored.

He always ordered red wine, and would sip slowly from one glass the entire evening.

His morning change of clothes was usually comfortable black sportswear, and a black jacket with blue trim. Kenji often wondered if it was his routine to workout in the morning, or if his career actually involved some kind of sport.

He had a thing for European or indie films, preferably both. A happy discovery made when Kenji ran into him outside the Sunshine Cinema, on his way in to catch The Lady in the Van. It was a chance encounter that Kenji had surreptitiously morphed into a semi-regular occurrence.

Kenji also found out that concerts with Debussy and Ravel pieces were like catnip to him, as were all dances and balls. He never turned down those invitations when he could. His love and knowledge of music and dance always shimmered in his eyes beneath the stoic surface.

The pace was painstakingly slow, but they were drawing closer, and six months seemed like such a significant landmark. Kenji was by no means the only submissive in the picture, but was now probably the one he saw the most. Just this past week, they had spent nearly every single evening together, and Kenji even managed to persuade him to stay most nights.

Was it wrong to hope for the next step, whatever it was? Perhaps, it was to be exclusive. Or maybe, just trusted enough to know his name.      

Kenji jumped when the door to the bedroom slid open, snapping him out of his daydreams, and his Master padded drowsily toward the coffee machine.

“What time is it?” he mumbled irritably.

“Nearly seven,” replied Kenji in amusement, seeing his Master swaying slightly, half-asleep while trying to stir his coffee. Then watched in quiet laughter as he transformed into a somewhat functional human being.

“I’ll need to go soon,” said his Master, draining the last dregs of his coffee, “So you’ll need to brief me about this cocktail party when we meet later.”

Kenji nodded, his eyes remaining fixed on the confident, impassive figure walking towards him, the ripple of strong, sinewy muscles hugging his frame, most probably in a rush to leave. But instead, his breath escaped him when his Master grasped the sides of his face with both hands, fingers clawing through his hair, and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss, his lips demanding and possessive, eliciting small, muffled moans from Kenji, who reciprocated eagerly.

The unexpected affection left Kenji flustered and panting, his lips and cheeks reddened, his eyes widened in surprise. His Master had a small smirk on his face, as he said, “A little reward, for making it to six months.” And padded back to the bedroom to get changed.

Kenji remained dazed, perched on the bar stool, his mind fixated on one thought: He noticed, and he remembered.

 

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As he climbed the ornate stone steps leading to the entrance of Victor’s favourite cocktail bar, Kenji stole a glance at the row of grand stone pillars that supported a gable with the word FREVD carved into it, the unpronounceable V annoying him as usual.

Sebastian was grinning at him as he approached, and as soon as he was within earshot, quipped “No, Sir, we will not be changing the V to a U.”

Kenji sighed dramatically as he shook his head, “You'll get more customers if you do, Sebastian.”

Sebastian chuckled lightly at this. “I'm sure, Sir. Will your guest be joining you?”

“Yes, he will. I've arranged to meet him here, but I'm a little early,” said Kenji with a smile, “Has Mr. Nikiforov arrived?”

“Yes, Sir. He is in the office,” then Sebastian lowered his voice slightly and continued, “He has been in there a while and was looking very agitated when he went in, so perhaps you would like to…”

“I will check on him, Sebastian,” Kenji replied quickly, “Before he combusts spontaneously. If someone asks for me, could you please tell them to wait here? I won't be long.”

“Of course, Sir,” replied Sebastian with a nod, and Kenji went off in search for his distraught friend.

He knew that these past few months had been particularly hard on Victor, what with the Great Deception looming over them.

Kenji has not stopped thanking the universe for making him second son of the Fukuda family. If he had been the first son, the full weight of his family's expectations would've rested squarely on his shoulders and he knew full well what that meant. Every move would be scrutinised.  Every life decision questioned.  He witnessed it from afar in his brother, who actually thrived under the pressure. And he saw the toll it now took on Victor Nikiforov.

It was a burden he couldn’t have borne. Not only because his character was entirely unsuited for him to be the future head of the company. There was also the matter of the ‘incident’, when someone he thought he could trust had savagely exposed the secrets of his past escapades, revealing to the world that he was gay, into the bdsm scene and was a submissive to boot.

Well.

He was glad his brother had shielded him from the prying eyes of the family and the press. In the end, they agreed he should probably stay away from the center of attention. They both knew he couldn't change who he was. And so he left Japan to start a new life in New York. A place where things didn't seem to matter so much, and he could almost be whatever he liked.

Victor was one of the first friends he made when he moved here, and his heart ached at the loneliness that seemed to enshroud the man, even though his life was constantly filled with people.

Kenji gave a cursory knock and stuck his head through the open door. He found Victor sitting on one of the armchairs, with a silly grin of relief on his face.

“Well, Sebastian has lost his touch,” said Kenji jokingly as he stepped into the office, “You don't look upset at all.”

Victor smiled at him. “I was. Mila double-booked herself tonight. But I found a date! The car is on the way to pick him up right now.”

Kenji glanced briefly at Victor’s phone and saw the familiar interface of the dating app. “Didn't you promise to stop this?” he asked teasingly.

“I know,” sighed Victor, “I just can't stand going around alone in these networking things. And it's only one night. Besides,” a wide smile appearing on his lips, “He approached me first. At just the right time. I think it's fate.”

Kenji laughed lightly at this, “And you'll live happily ever after.”

“Naturally,” replied Victor with smug look, “Anyway, where's your happily ever after? What's his name again?”

“I don’t think he's here yet. And…” Kenji hesitated, wondering if he should confide this detail to Victor. “The thing is… I don't know his real name. Only a fake one he usually uses. So....I’ll let you know.” And he gave Victor a crooked grin.

Victor returned a hapless smile, and remarked, “We have very peculiar troubles, don't we?”

A helpless chuckle escaped Kenji’s lips. “I'll see you inside,” he replied, as he turned to leave the room. Peculiar was an understatement.

His Master was standing at the entrance, looking enticing in a dark grey waistcoat with a black tie and a crisp white shirt. He was slowly removing his gloves from his long slender hands, before passing wordlessly them to an attendant along with his coat, while impassively surveying the reception area. Kenji hurried over to greet him, not intending to give the dominant any excuse for a punishment, his skin still tingling from a recent infraction.

“Hi,” said Kenji, almost shyly, as he approached, willing his heart to stop its loud thudding.

“There you are,” said his Master, with an eyebrow slightly raised, and a hint of displeasure that Kenji was almost sure was because there was one fewer reason to tie him up again. “Shall we talk?”

Kenji nodded, and led them to a secluded corner in the reception area,  A waiter approached them with a tray of drinks, and Kenji immediately reached for a mojito, needing something to soothe the thrumming of his nerves. His Master glanced at the selection of cocktails, and shook his head curtly, dismissing the waiter, who retreated quickly, looking almost apologetic that the drinks were not up to par.

Kenji toyed with the slice of lemon on the edge of the class, squirming slightly under his Master’s calm, searching scrutiny, and cleared his throat before he started, “It’s a networking event for young executives in the tobacco business. Hosted by a friend of mine, Victor Nikiforov. I’ll point him out to you later. He’s the heir to the Nikiforov company. My family does not have formal dealings with them, but we are in the same industry. I don’t think we’ll need to add anything to our usual story. Katsuki Yuuri in the performing arts?”

Kenji paused to steal a glimpse of his Master’s expression as he considered the information with a slight crease in his brows

“I think Yuuri should suffice,” he finally said after a brief silence, “I don’t think anyone would be interested in my full name tonight.”

“Of course,” replied Kenji obligingly, now nervously toying with the salt rim on his glass. They could join the crowd in the main hall now, but still he remained at the table, waiting patiently, purposefully avoiding the dominant’s gaze.

That had been four facts he’d revealed, plus two from the previous night. That gave him the right to two questions.

The silence stretched out uncomfortably between them, but Kenji held his ground. His dominant should know by now that they were equally matched when it came to stubbornness.

The silence was eventually broken by an amused chuckle, “Very well. Ask your questions.”

Kenji grinned inwardly, glad that his gamble had paid off. He even had the questions ready.

“Is Katsuki Yuuri a real person? And do you know him?” he asked promptly, trying to hide his grin.

The dominant still had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were slightly narrowed, as if he was picturing new ways to torment a rebellious, demanding, inconvenient little sub.

“Yes, he is real,” the dominant replied eventually, turning his gaze away from Kenji towards entrance, where guests were still streaming in through the doors. “And I wouldn’t say I know him very well, but-”

Suddenly, something caught the dominant’s eye beyond Kenji’s line of sight, and he stopped abruptly in mid-sentence, the color draining from his face, his eyes widened and his lips pressed tightly together. It was an expression that Kenji had never seen before, and it took him a second to realize that what he was seeing was fear.

But when Kenji leaned forward to see what had caused the sudden change, the dominant laid a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, which made Kenji return his attention to his Master.  

His cool composure had restored itself, and only the smallest hint of a quiver could be heard in his voice, as he stated in a final tone, “I think we should go in now.”

Kenji felt himself being torn between the burning desperation to gain even scraps of details that could give him a glimpse of the person hidden behind layers of inscrutable secrecy, and the desire to honor their agreement and respect his Master’s right to keep whatever he wanted to himself.

Kenji relented, and gave a small nod, allowing himself to be guided towards the heavy double doors that led to the main hall. He stole a casual glance behind him before they passed through the doors, and saw Victor talking misty-eyed to a nervous-looking, dark-haired man.

Whatever had caught his Master’s eye must be lost in the crowd by now. And Kenji contented himself with the warm touch on his shoulder, holding him close.

 

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“Am I being paranoid?” asked Kenji, slumping his head back into the sofa, his phone held close to his ear.

“Yes, yes and yes. You absolutely are,” his brother replied in irritation. “Kenji. It’s the holiday season. It’s normal for people to be busy with other things.”

Kenji closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Maybe his brother was right. There could be a million rational reasons for the dominant to be silent for two weeks. But he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was entirely due to whatever the dominant had seen that day, at the cocktail party.

Whatever he had seen had changed things. He had been uneasy the entire night, the sense of complete control that he usually emanated was hampered by a strain of nervousness, and he’d left much earlier than expected.

Kenji waited for some sort of contact the next day, but nothing came. Nor the day after that. Any messages he plucked up the courage to send went unanswered. Kenji began using their shared calendar again. They'd stopped using it because it became easier to arrange everything in person. But none of the events he'd added were accepted.

There hadn’t been an explanation. Just silence. Painful, inexplicable silence. And it hurt more than it should.

“I just… I thought we were getting somewhere,” Kenji said in a shaky voice, fighting back tears that had no right to surface. “I didn’t think I could be discarded this easily.”

“I don’t think he’s discarding you, Kenji,” replied his brother reassuringly, “There might have been better offers. He’ll probably come back again.”

The words, intended to soothe, struck a blow at the very core of his secret fears, making the pain more acute. He had hoped that he was special. Hoped that perhaps he was more than the flavor of the month. That he wouldn’t be tossed aside when something more interesting came along. That there would at least be some explanation for this silence.

But it was what he had agreed to. And it wouldn't be fair to ask for more.

“Look, Kenji. Don’t let your fears run away with you,” said his brother after Kenji remained silent, “Didn't you say he liked dances and things? Why don't you call him and ask him about the New Year's Eve charity ball again?”

“Call him?” Kenji repeated hesitantly. He'd never done that before. It seemed much too forward, and a huge imposition on the dominant’s privacy.

“Yes, call him,” his brother insisted, “That way you can also tell whether he's still interested, and if he was just busy these two weeks.”

Kenji blanched a little at the thought. But what other option did he have.

“OK,” Kenji said eventually, after another long silence. “I'll let you know how it goes. Talk later?”

“Good luck,” said his brother grimly, before ending the call.

Kenji held the phone between his fingers and tapped it gently on the table. He didn't have much to lose. And he could sense that something wasn't right. It wasn't just a matter of waiting.

He unlocked his phone again and found the dominant’s number, his finger hovering over the green icon. He had nothing to lose.

The soft dial tone rang in his ears, and he couldn’t help counting the seconds that passed.

...5...6...7…

When did voicemail kick in? Would he have the courage to leave a message?

He closed his eyes, and breathed deeply to still his pounding heart.

....9...10…

“Hello?”

His eyes flew open, and his pulse quickened at the mellow, self-assured voice.

“Hi, it’s Kenji,” he said quickly, “I’m sorry for calling you. I, erm, I’ve not heard from you since the cocktail party and I…”

Kenji’s voice trailed off, his mind was a panicked blur, and he seemed to have forgotten why he’d called in the first place.

He waited in breathless silence, trying to piece his scrambled thoughts together.

But before he could hang up in embarrassment, the dominant said in serious voice, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

Kenji felt the loosening of a vice-like grip in his chest. He hadn’t been crazy or paranoid. And he did matter, at least a little.

“Can I see you again?” ventured Kenji tentatively, “There’s the New Year’s Eve ball tomorrow and…”

He left the suggestion hanging in mid-air, reluctant to force his will on the dominant. There was no sound on the other end of the line, but he waited patiently with bated breath.

“It sounds nice,” the dominant finally said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kenji.”  

“OK,” Kenji replied with a shaky sigh of relief as the call ended, and he slumped back into the sofa to regain his breath.

It felt as if they were teetering on the edge of a cliff.

As if they had finally reached the breaking point of their current arrangement, and they could no longer pretend everything was casual, non-committal fun.

They had to decide if there would be more. And the final decision did not lie with Kenji, because his mind had been made up a long time ago.

 

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The twinkle of the chandeliers gave the twirling dancers a fairytale shimmer, the ballroom bursting in merriment with the sounds of laughter and enjoyment. Kenji was held in a close, protective embrace, as they weaved their way seamlessly through the crowd.

Dancing seemed to bring out a different side to the dominant  A carefree, high-spirited, almost light-hearted enthusiasm that had Kenji giddy with glee as he was swept around the opulent ballroom. They hadn’t stopped since they arrived, and the mirth must have been infectious, because they chatted freely with unprecedented lightness about the most nonsensical of things. Kenji wished that the night wouldn’t end, or the new year wouldn’t arrive, or for them to be trapped in a witch’s curse, condemned to merrymaking for all eternity.

The last of which he said out loud, which made the dominant snort in surprised laughter and miss a step, in turn causing Kenji to stumble on someone’s gown. After profuse apologies between suppressed chuckling, they retreated as far away as possible from the fuming lady with a torn hem, and found an unoccupied table in a corner.

A waiter promptly approached them with flutes of champagne, and to Kenji’s surprise, the dominant reached for two and offered one to Kenji, who took it with a quizzical look.

“I thought you only drank red wine?” Kenji ventured teasingly.

The dominant gave him a sideway glance while taking a long sip, before retorting smoothly, “And champagne on special occasions.”

Kenji smiled at the unguarded remark, freely given.

This evening had felt so comfortable. Natural and wonderful. They were well-suited, and they both knew it. If only the dominant would stop preventing them from going further.

As Kenji pondered over how to broach the subject, he suddenly realized that someone across the room had been trying to get the dominant’s attention, and was now pushing past the crowd towards them.

“I think there’s someone here you know, Sir,” Kenji said as he gestured towards the stranger.

The dominant glanced over his shoulder, and stood up abruptly, as if intending to intercept the stranger before he arrived at the table. Kenji rose to follow, but his Master cast a stern look at him and chided, “There is no need for you to follow, little sub. Don’t wander off.”

For reasons Kenji couldn’t fathom, anger bubbled up within him, as he watched his Master’s retreating back. Why was there a need to keep everything so closely guarded? The stranger looked like another submissive from his harem, and Kenji had met several others before, one of whom had provided the dominant’s contact in the first place. They couldn’t reveal much more than Kenji already knew, and he had always been discreet so far.

Perhaps emboldened by annoyance and the carefree mirth around them, Kenji rose again and followed a few paces behind his Master, intending to go unnoticed but still satisfying his need to rebel, just a little.

When he was within earshot of their conversation, Kenji stopped dead in his tracks.

“...a surprise. It’s so nice to see you again, Seung Gil. Has it been a year?”

“A year and a half, I think.”

“I’m glad you still remember me.”

“Why would I forget?  You were my first on the dating app.”

Kenji felt his heart thundering in his ears, and he quickly backed away from the conversation, trying to blend into the crowd of masked dancers.

Seung Gil.

He knew his Master’s name at last.

His chest was pounding in excitement, fear and exhilaration. The piece of forbidden information running in circles in his mind.

Seung Gil.

He couldn’t let his Master find out that he knew. It was one of his hard limits, and he had made it very clear that any wilful action on Kenji’s part to uncover this information would mean an immediate termination of their arrangement.

More than that, Kenji had overstepped his bounds. Instead of respecting another person’s need for space, he had barged in unasked and obtained information he had no right to. He of all people should have known better.

But he couldn’t stop himself from savoring the spoils of his intrusion, the sweetness of finally being able to say that he belonged to Seung Gil.

As he wandered aimlessly among the tables, he spotted a glimmer of silver-blond hair, and realized that it was Victor, a glowing smile plastered on his face, seated next to the same dark-haired man he had seen at the cocktail party. He reminded himself not to reveal his newfound secret to Victor, and approached their table, relieved to find some distraction from his conflicting emotions.

He tapped Victor gently on the shoulder and said, “I see you had fun, Victor-san.”  
  
Victor whipped around and stood up his hand, “Kenji-san! Happy New Year. Please join us. This is Katsuki Yuuri.”

Kenji gawped in surprise and horror at serendipity. Not only did he overhear his Master’s name, he had found Katsuki Yuuri. With this knowledge came the realization that it had been Yuuri’s presence the other night that had caused his Master to withdraw completely. It seems that the gods had conspired to open the floodgates of secrets tonight.   
  
Katsuki Yuuri jumped up at the mention of his name, and bowed his head slightly, mumbling, “ _Hajimemashite_ .” Kenji snapped out of his bewilderment, and quickly returned his bow, saying, “ Aa… _Hajimemashite_ . Fukuda Kenji _desu_ . This is a pleasant surprise, Victor-san. ”   
  
Victor smiled brightly at him, then turned to Yuuri to explain, “Kenji-san is the son of a manufacturer and distributor in Japan, and we may work with them in the future.”   
  
“Second son,” Kenji added, “My brother’s the one you have to make a deal with when he comes next week. I'm only based in the New York branch, in marketing, so I’m the wrong person to bribe,” and he gave Yuuri a friendly grin, and observed the man, silently wondering who he was.   
  
“Kenji-san and I know each other mainly from the same events we like to attend,” Victor explained to Yuuri, then turned to ask Kenji, “Are you here alone?”   
  
Kenji raised an eyebrow at him, “Have you ever seen me alone? No, my companion was talking to someone he knew and so... I wandered off.” He cast a distracted glance around the room, and saw Seung Gil walking towards them. He had been caught red-handed, and there was no point in denying that he now knew who Katsuki Yuuri is. “There he is now,” he said, his lips feeling dry, and made no move leave.

He approached in slow, sure strides, his stormy eyes obscured by the sleek black mask. Kenji felt Seung Gil’s hand on his nape, gripping the muscle too tightly for comfort, as he said in a low, stern voice, “I thought I said not to wander off?” Kenji felt his breath quicken at the possessiveness and the promise of pain in Seung Gil’s voice, his legs shaking slightly as he stood up and was steered firmly out of the ballroom.

When they were alone in the corridor, he felt a warm breath in his ear that whispered dangerously, “You will get us a room in this hotel right now. I don’t think your punishment can wait until we get back.”

Kenji felt a hitch in his pulse at those words, and obediently did as he was told. The front desk was surprisingly cooperative, and it wasn’t long before they were unlocking the door with a key card. Seung Gil slammed it shut as soon as they were in the room, and pressed Kenji against the wall. His lips were fierce and demanding, his fingers were entangled in Kenji’s hair, pulling them closer together. Kenji’s loud moans were muffled by the kiss, his hands clung tightly to Seung Gil’s collar, as he yielded to the outpour of passion that he’d never seen before.

Suddenly, Seung Gil broke off the kiss, and growled, “Strip.”

Kenji obeyed, trying to undress as suavely as he could as he stumbled after Seung Gil, who was sauntering further into the room, discarding his tailcoat and dress shirt as he went.

The air was cool against his naked skin, making him shiver slightly. He was guided by firm hands to face the wall, with his hands clasped around a light fitting above his head, and given strict instructions not to move his hands from their current position.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight when he heard the swish of a belt being yanked from its loops, and the loud crack as Seung Gil tested it behind him.

Without warning, the first lash of leather landed harshly on his back, a stinging swathe of pain burning his skin. A second lash followed soon after across his thighs. And a third near his shoulders. The quick succession of sharp, scorching agony elicited small cries of distress, his fingers digging into the metal fitting above him.

“Didn’t I say not to wander off?” his Master’s severe words resounded around him, “Now you have information that you had no right to.”

Kenji couldn’t respond in words, barely comprehending what was being said. His ears were ringing with the echoing slaps of leather against skin, and his mind was flooded with excruciating pain that somehow burned so good.

Through the haze of piercing sensations, he could vaguely tell that the lashes were far harsher than usual, and his Master seemed to be less in control. He had stopped talking, and was panting as loudly as Kenji, each lash striking harder than the last. A remote part of Kenji’s mind was trying to remember the safe word they had agreed on, sensing that they couldn’t both lose themselves.

But somewhere along the line, the fierce lashes had morphed into ecstasy, and his body could only shout for more, more. More pain. His world had turned white, he was caught in the throes of euphoria, wanting, craving for more, his lips parted in frenzied delirium, and his Master’s name rang repeatedly in his ears.

Then, suddenly there was a strangled cry, and the pain stopped. Kenji’s legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor.

On his way down, realized that he had called out Seung Gil’s name in his abandonment, and the heights of euphoria began crashing down on him, as he realized what he had done.

He tried to clear his head, and looked up at his Master. Seung Gil was dripping with sweat, his eyes unfocused, his expression wild and fearful, as if he couldn’t believe he had lost all control so completely.

Kenji’s back throbbed with stinging agony as he tried to stand up and reach for Seung Gil. But the dominant flinched and backed away. Kenji saw his eyes darting around the room, as if looking for an escape, and Kenji felt the panic rise within him.

“Please don’t leave,” he pleaded desperately, the turmoil of emotions still fogging his brain after plunging down from the ecstasy of subspace.

The dominant stared at him with a strange expression, his voice strained as he replied, “No. No. I can’t do this. This needs to stop.” Then, he began gathering his clothes, as frantic words began pouring from Kenji.

“Is it because I found out your name? It was an accident. I overheard you speaking to that person, and I didn’t think I would find out anything new. I wasn’t thinking, and it was a mistake.”

The words fell on deaf ears, and Seung Gil, now fully dressed, strode resolutely towards the door. Kenji threw on a bathrobe from the closet, and scrambled after him, clutching his arm before he could open the door.

“It’s not just the name, is it?” Kenji said urgently, on the verge of tears, “Tell me what it is, and we can try to fix it. Please don’t go. Please.”

Seung Gil turned to face him, his gaze steely but pained. Kenji knew this was equally hard for him to let go. But why was he still doing this?

“I- We-” Kenji stammered, trying to find the right words, but he couldn’t think properly.

Seung Gil reached over and took Kenji’s hand in his, squeezing it gently.

“Please don’t try to reach me again,” he said softly, before releasing Kenji’s hand, and turned to leave.

The door swung shut and Kenji was left staring at the plain wooden surface, completely lost. He returned to the room, his breaths coming in short and shallow gasps. He tried to reason with himself that the awful sinking in his stomach was just a nasty sub-drop, the sudden depletion of euphoric chemicals after extreme pleasure. It would all seem better in the morning, everything seemed better in the morning.

But he knew it wouldn’t be. Not for a long time. And he reached out to the only person available to him right now.

“Kenji?”

When he heard his brother’s worried voice, no words came out of him, only heaving sobs that wracked through his body, and tears of unspeakable pain.

 

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	2. Seung Gil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Here's the second part of the Seung Gil/Kenji side story. Again, sorry for the wait :( :(
> 
> Also, just wanted to let you know that I'm in the process of writing an Epilogue to the main story, and will most likely post it next weekend. Absolutely couldn't get it out of my head, so yeah... But this will be the last addition to this AU. No more suprises, I promise!
> 
> In the meantime, hope you enjoy part two :D  
> As usual, beta'd by my wonderful sister!! (sorry for making you read it right before work T_T)
> 
> UPDATE: Decided to move these two chapters to make the main story less cluttered. Reading the main story is advisable, and you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953597/chapters/24379005)!

 

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“RED! RE--D!”

Seung Gil snapped out of his trance and immediately stopped the flogger in mid-air. His mind had wandered in the middle of a scene, which was entirely unacceptable in a dominant. But he couldn’t help the inaudible sigh of impatience, as he tossed the flogger aside with a loud clatter and hurried over to untie the new submissive.  

It was the third time the safe word had been used that evening, and although Seung Gil had grown accustomed to inflicting a much higher level of pain, the submissive didn’t seem capable of taking any level of it. Seung Gil had already had to endure two unwanted trips down to his regular store for new implements from what the owner likes to call the ‘newbie section’. The flogger was _fluffy_ on one side for heaven’s sake.

Not that working with new subs was altogether alien to Seung Gil, it was equally interesting to see them explore new territory, as it was to push the boundaries of veterans. The more important fact he’d observed, however, was that the new sub didn’t seem to enjoy pain at all. And Seung Gil certainly knew what that form of enjoyment looked like, he’d been spoiled over the last six months or so, by the most alluring sub he’d had the pleasure to come across.

Seung Gil tried to catch himself before his mind could conjure up an image of that face, contorted in exquisite pain and pleasure, thoroughly lost in sensation. It was intoxicating to have someone fall apart so completely in your hands, to be so responsive and open…

He quickly shook his head to clear his mind. Not again.

He hadn't quite been himself since New Year's Eve. But now he needed to focus. And he needed to forget.

It took him a second to remember that the new submissive was called Vincent. Seung Gil carefully helped him from the padded bench and threw a soft blanket around his shaking form, coaxing him take small sips of water to calm down.

The absolute misery on Vincent’s face was the final sign Seung Gil needed to confirm that he was most likely someone who only liked the _idea_ of being a masochist, but should probably stick to fantasising about it.

They’d tried a variety of things over the past few days, and nothing they’d experimented with seemed to work. Pain was such a primal, instinctive response that it took a very specific kind of courage to trust someone deeply enough to know that the pain was not solely to cause hurt, but quite the opposite.

When Vincent’s breathing had slowed to an even pace, Seung Gil said in the kindest tone he could muster, “Vincent, I think we should reconsider our arrangement.”

Vincent gave him a perplexed look, “Sir?”

“You may need to find another dominant who is...less of a sadist.” Seung Gil continued pointedly.

Indignation passed over the submissive’s face, as he deliberately tilted his head away from Seung Gil, saying in a huff of mock ignorance, “I don't know what you mean, Sir.”

Seung Gil raised his eyebrow at the bratty tone. While he accepted, no, _preferred_ a certain amount of cheek and rebellion, he wasn't keen on the idea of having a power struggle over every order he gave.

“It means, Vincent, that you are not a masochist,” said Seung Gil bluntly, putting a stop to the submissive’s game, “You do not like pain, and that is something I expect.”

At Vincent’s slight look of hurt, he added more gently, “But I can see that you will make a very good submissive to a few dominants I know. I can put you in touch with them if you wish.”

“But I have heard so many good things about you, Sir,” Vincent retorted with a whine, casting a coy glance at Seung Gil, “Isn't there anything I could do for you to relax some of your requirements. Perhaps we could reach an agreeable amount that will be worth your while?”

Seung Gil took in the knowing, suggestive expression on the submissive’s face, and almost let out a tired, bitter scoff.

It was rare to have ugly reality shoved in his face like this. His submissives were usually more subtle about it, thanks in part to the strict rules he had woven to shield himself from the...less savoury parts of these arrangements.

But every so often someone like Vincent would come along, and serve as a harsh reminder that to these people, he was nothing but a plaything. Bought and paid for.

All of them made it clear in one form or another that he was not here to explore the intricacies of a relationship, but to satisfy their whims. For the duration they were together, they owned him, and he was there to play out a fantasy that was disjointed from reality. In this secret world, hidden behind closed doors, he was not a person, but a caricature in a farce, his needs were altogether inconsequential and easily replaceable by money, or threats.

All of them, without fail, eventually revealed the ugly truth behind the facade.

All of them, except one. A treasured one who almost had him believe that there was no facade, that the beauty he could see was real and true.

And that one, he had left sobbing, dishevelled and alone in a hotel room.

The memory of Kenji’s desperate, tear-streaked face brought on a wave of nausea and guilt that had been tormenting him these past few weeks. So much so that he hadn’t been able to think straight, or feel anything else. He couldn’t even find the energy to admonish the new sub. He just wanted to leave, and to forget. Let him be somebody else's problem.

Seung Gil wordlessly removed his coat from the chair beside them, flinging it over his shoulder as he strode towards the door.

Without looking back, he opened the door to leave, pausing only briefly to say, “Lose my number.”

 

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“Seung Gil? You’re home early.”

Seung Gil snapped out of his trance for the second time that day, and realised that his feet had brought him back to the shared flat on autopilot. Phichit was lounging lazily on the couch, with his legs stretched out before him and the TV murmuring softly in the background, as he caught up on his daily dose of social media.

“Hey, Phichit,” he greeted in a flat tone, draping his coat on the hatstand, and realizing in annoyance that he had left his flogger behind, along with a perfectly good necktie.

“I thought you were out with the new guy? Don't the new ones usually take longer?” asked Phichit casually, looking up from his phone.

Seung Gil gave a wordless grimace of disgust, which made Phichit laugh out loud.

“That bad, eh?” said Phichit with a grin, “Good thing you found out early.”

Seung Gil returned a small crooked smile, before padding to the kitchen to hunt for food, his heart lifting a little when he heard Phichit yelling from the living room for him to eat the leftovers.

As he rummaged through the cupboards for a clean plate, he couldn’t help realizing how much of a relief it had been to finally tell someone about his double life. He might have been trying to deny how isolated he had been these few years, but it did feel good to have a link to reality.

Phichit had been nothing but understanding and supportive, if a little too curious, since he found out about Seung Gil’s secret. He’d accepted everything with such an easy grace that made Seung Gil wonder whether he needed to be so close-mouthed about his life to the others.

Plus, he thought as he helped himself from a small mountain of pad thai in the wok, his newfound closeness with Phichit also meant an unlimited access to excellent cooking.

“Were you trying to feed an army?” he asked when he emerged from the kitchen with an obscene amount of food, and sauntered over to the coffee table to sit cross-legged on the floor.

“Yuuri was supposed to come over for dinner,” replied Phichit, eyes still glued on his phone, “But he was kidnapped for a date, so we’ll be having pad thai for the next two days.”

Of course, thought Seung Gil with a smirk, Katsuki Yuuri’s appetite could put a battalion to shame. The weeks he had been living here had been eye-opening.

Even though he’d begun feeling a grudging camaraderie with Katsuki Yuuri recently, he didn’t know why the guy still irritated him slightly.

Maybe it was the lingering annoyance that started when he first arrived in Juilliard, and everyone kept asking if he was from Japan “like Yuuri”. But that should have been resolved years ago, when a spark of malicious inspiration had prompted him to use Kastuki’s name as his pseudonym. Now the name Katsuki Yuuri was flitting around the underbelly of the bdsm world like an elusive bat, to his secret delight.

No, he decided, it was mainly the annoying sense of vulnerability that Katsuki carried with him. They had both been in the same boat in the beginning. They had both started out knowing that their funds would be limited. Seung Gil had prided himself in solving his problems by the second year, whereas Katsuki had allowed his situation to spiral out of control, and had ended up on their couch.

He didn’t think Katsuki would be bold enough to follow through with his suggestion to try sugar dating. But he did, and then had gone much deeper into the sordid world of sugar relationships than Seung Gil ever did. Just yesterday, he’d appeared in the cafeteria with Victor Nikiforov in tow, who announced to everyone at their table that he was Kastuki’s boyfriend.

“Is the date with Victor?” Seung Gil asked suddenly in an uncertain voice.

“Of course,” replied Phichit cheerfully, “Who else would it be?”

Seung Gil gave a non-committal shrug. Maybe he was hoping Kastuki had the sense to hedge his bets. He knew enough from bits of rumour to know that Victor’s circumstances were far, far too complicated for his liking. From what he’d heard, Victor was in no position to offer any sort of commitment, much less appear in public as someone’s boyfriend. It all had to be some kind of joke. That, or Kastuki was only setting himself up to be bulldozed by reality.

“Also,” Phichit continued, “Things seem to be going very well with those two. They’re living together now, I think. Mostly so Victor doesn’t have to commute a crazy amount every day.”

Seung Gil jumped in surprise at the news. “Isn’t Victor engaged?”

“You’ve heard about that too, huh?” Phichit said in a grim voice, as he swung his legs off the couch and sat with his arms folded, his eyebrows knotted into a rare frown, “ _Technically_ , not yet. But it sounds like it’ll still go ahead.”

“And Yuuri is fine with this?” asked Seung Gil cautiously, trying to hide an inexplicable anger that was rising. Was he angry at Katsuki for rolling over like an idiot? Or at Victor for putting him in that situation? Either way, he was surprised at his level of emotional engagement, and dismissed it.

“Yes, I think so,” replied Phichit slowly, his tone laced with deep concern, and he let out a helpless laugh, “I think Yuuri has made up his mind to be stubborn about it.”

Seung Gil could only shake his head in distaste at what he was hearing. Trust Katsuki to leap feet first into a mess like this.

“And who knows,” continued Phichit brightly, “They’re good for each other, and they both want to give it a shot. Maybe it’ll all work out.”

Seung Gil rolled his eyes in exasperation at the incessant optimism, which only made Phichit laugh heartily, before settling back into the couch to resume scrolling through his phone.

But Seung Gil knew the cold, hard truth was that their chances were not good, and the price they would have to pay would be too high. He’d seen it before, and he’d been through it himself. When things got troublesome, they were usually the first to be thrown out the window.

Maybe that’s the real reason why he found Katsuki Yuuri so annoying. Maybe it was because he was willing to take risks that Seung Gil was not. Like the risk of being kicked out of his flat because he’d taken on such a huge workload from the start that it elbowed out any chance of earning enough from his on-campus jobs. Or agree to take on the Firebird, of all pieces, which may jeopardize the most important performance of his time in Juilliard. And now, _this_. To get entangled in the most wretched affair he could find that would most likely end in tears.

These were all risks that Seung Gil couldn’t take. He couldn’t release the tight reins he held over his life. Not when reason told him the odds were bad, and experience had shown him the grotesque side of reality.

Not even for something that had the potential to make him immensely and unbelievably happy.

Kenji’s heavy lidded eyes apperaed unbidden in his mind, sometimes gleaming with a new scheme, other times glazed over in submission, accompanied by the glint of a silver hoop on his left ear, or the strands of chestnut hair falling across his face.

Seung Gil was fearful of the torrent of emotions that Kenji had the power to stir up. He was afraid of how well they fitted together, how deeply he craved Kenji’s presence, how complete it made him feel. He was afraid of how close they were becoming, and how much Kenji already knew about him. But most of all, he was afraid that Kenji would turn to him one day and say it had all been dream, and it was time to wake up.

Seeing his two worlds clash at the cocktail party had rattled him more than it should. He hadn’t been prepared for it, who in the world would have expected Katsuki to appear at the same event on his very first date. And all he could hear in his mind was, what if Kenji found he what he was in real life, and the spell holding their secret world together was broken? It was a question he hadn’t been ready to face.

But maybe he had been ready when Kenji approached him again after their brief hiatus. Maybe he would have taken the next step. Actually, he was quite sure he would have. If it hadn’t been for the unexpected encounter with his past at the New Year’s Eve ball.

It was the first person he had approached on the sugar dating app. And the first person to lead him into the bdsm world. Maybe even his first love, but Seung Gil couldn’t tell anymore. In any case, it would be impossible to forget his first submissive, no matter how much he wanted to.

It was also hard to forget the first person who had cast him aside like a cheap toy when things became inconvenient, as if their time together had meant nothing. And it probably didn’t. Worse than the sudden loss had been the deep, painful humiliation scorched into his mind.

Seeing him at the ball had brought back the caustic memories, and with it came the haunting reminders of all his encounters since then. None of them, not a single one, gave him the proof he needed that this time, it would be different. This one would be the one.

In the end, he couldn’t go through with it.

As if on cue, his phone went off in his pocket, and he fished it out.

It was another message from Kenji. The sixth since they parted, and he hesitated briefly before opening it.

 **Please tell me what I did.** 21:34

A sharp clenching pain flashed across his chest, making it difficult to breathe. His fingers hovered over the screen, and he closed his eyes to shut out the world, focusing on taking deep, slow breaths.

He wanted to reply. He wanted to tell the little sub that it wasn't his fault. He wanted to go back in time and wipe away the tears.

But instead, he deleted the message, and all the other messages before it, and blocked the number.

He didn’t have the courage of fools.

When the deed was done, a shuddering breath escaped his lips, and he slipped his phone back into his pocket with shaking fingers.

“Are you alright, Seung Gil?”

His eyes flew open to find Phichit’s worried face peering at him, and his stolid mask fell back into place.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

He should have known from the moment the door was opened that something wasn’t right. He should have seen it coming from Kastuki’s nervous apologies for bringing an extra guest. Or from Victor’s winsome smiles that betrayed a hint of apprehension.

He should have known that when they stepped through the door, Kenji would follow wordlessly behind them, his unwavering gaze fixed firmly on Seung Gil.

It was as if the world had been silenced, and reality had closed in on one point in space. Seung Gil couldn’t look away, as he hungrily drank in the slight figure standing in silent deference, the downward tilt of his head accentuating the long sinews in his neck, his full lips drawn in a tight, tense line, his dark eyes peering at Seung Gil through thick black lashes. A manic, dejected, accusatory look that yet still appeared hopeful and waiting.

Seung Gil was rooted to the ground, his heart pounding at the sudden downpour of emotions. Absolute fury at the invasion, racking guilt at his missteps, and an unbearable, suffocating joy. As he struggled to control the violent tossing and turning in his chest, Phichit broke the unyielding hold that Kenji had over him by ushering the guests to the dining table and offering them drinks. Seung Gil took the chance to take shelter in the kitchen, and pounded his fists hard into the counter as soon as he was out of sight.

What was he doing here? How dare he come here?

His knuckles were grinding painfully into the cold marble surface, and his nails sank deep into the flesh of his palms.

Why had he come?

For the thrill of the chase? Was Seung Gil a trophy he was trying to hunt down? A trinket that didn’t deserve the rights to his own privacy?

Or had he been equally wretched all this time?

The tumult of emotions refused to subside. Rage. Guilt. And hope. So much cruel hope. Stirring up a painful ache in his chest.

In the end, he allowed rage to surface and smother the rest. It was the only emotion that made him feel safe, allowing him to rejoin the others with a stormy exterior that hid his vulnerability.

Between his furious scowl and Kenji’s resolute waiting, the air over the dinner table was electrified with tension. Victor and Katsuki were carefully treading around topics that had the potential to trigger an explosion from either of them, managing only to elicit only polite but simple responses from Kenji, whose voice sounded coarse and cracked.

Even Phichit, who knew absolutely nothing, sensed that something was amiss, and his sunny voice was eventually muffled by the strained atmosphere, as he joined the other two in glancing surreptitiously between Kenji and Seung Gil.

By the time the last of the mango and sticky rice pudding had been licked clean, Seung Gil had not spoken a word. As they rose to clear the table, Kenji gave him one last pleading glance, and when he received no response, he shut his eyes briefly in acceptance, and looked away as he said in a quiet voice, “Thank you for having me, Phichit. The dinner was excellent. But I shouldn’t take any more of your time.”

But somehow, amidst Kenji’s polite refusals at Phichit’s insistence that he stay, and watching his retreating back as he retrieved his coat, Seung Gil felt something break in him, and despite the clanging alarm bells in his head, he called out, “Wait, Kenji. I’ll walk you down.”

Kenji whipped around in surprise, his eyes wide and glimmering with hope, as he nodded breathlessly.

Seung Gil felt his body tingling with numbness as he threw on his own coat, and padded in silence down the stairs, with Kenji walking mutely beside him.

When they were out in the streets, Seung Gil made his way to the nearest place he could think of where they could talk in relative peace. Kenji followed without complaint, even when they pushed past the flimsy metallic door handles into the greasy smell of fries and the glaring lights of a McDonald’s.

It was hardly ideal, but given the late hour on a Saturday night, it was the best that Seung Gil could come up with. Its steady stream of disinterested, single-minded patrons may actually offer them a greater degree of privacy, and no bar this side of New York would be quiet enough to talk. He tried not to flinch as he ordered a black coffee and the closest thing he could find to tea.

With their dubious drinks in hand, they climbed the somewhat sticky stairs and found a quiet table by the windows, looking out onto bright lights of the city that never sleeps.

After a moment of silence, Seung Gil eventually said, “Why did you come?”

Kenji bit his lower lip, staring intently into his cup of almost-tea, as he struggled for the right words.

“I'm sorry. I know I shouldn’t have, Sir.”

Seung Gil’s eyes flashed angrily at the last word. What kind of sick game that Kenji was playing? They were sitting in bright plastic chairs, drinking unidentifiable liquids from paper cups, and Kenji calls him Sir? Was Seung Gil actually to believe it was genuine, and not just a ploy to win him back that made a mockery of an already absurd relationship.

“Let me guess,” snapped Seung Gil scathingly, “Maybe because you didn’t think my decision actually meant anything? Were you hoping to entice me back? Maybe you wanted to use your wiles on me?  Or _maybe_ you came to offer me more gifts? Was that it? Throw more money at the whore, it’ll make him stay.”

The unfair accusations had poured out of him unfettered, the product of long resentment, and he hated himself for it, especially with Kenji staring at him in open horror.

“Well?” demanded Seung Gil when Kenji remained wordless in shock, his harsh voice causing Kenji’s look of horror to morph slowly into pain.

Kenji looked away and closed his eyes, taking deep shuddering breaths, as if trying to suppress the tears that were threatening to surface.

Eventually, he turned a steady gaze on Seung Gil, and said in a strained voice that was full of hurt, “I have never done any of that, Sir. And I have not come to change your mind. I only came to ask why. I believe I have earned the right to know why.”

Seung Gil stared mutely at Kenji, searching for any sign to believe that even this plea was disingenuous. But he found none, only deep hurt and a deep longing that made him want to reach over and take Kenji’s hand in his. To heal the wounds he had inflicted, to kiss away the lines of pain on his face.

Seung Gil could no longer deny that this time, it was different. And he felt the last of his anger fall away. The very least he owed Kenji was an explanation and an apology.

“I was wrong to say those things,” said Seung Gil quietly, “And for leaving you like that. That was entirely my fault. You have done nothing wrong.” He paused slightly, and saw puzzlement cross Kenji’s face, and he continued hesitantly, “I was afraid of how close we were becoming, and I could see what you were hoping for. So, I left, because I don’t think I could’ve given you what you wanted.”

He hesitated again, returning the curious and searching glances that Kenji was giving him with a steady look. He wasn’t sure how bluntly he should express his feelings, but then again, he saw no point in hiding them.

“I don’t trust that we can remain equals in a relationship. My past experience has taught me that in all likelihood, you will eventually use your privilege in real life to dictate what happens between us. It could be your wealth, or your social status, or your family connections, or even your age. You will always have the upper hand. And when you tire of me, you will leave.”

Then, he slid his hand across the table, and placed it gently over Kenji’s.

“But if I could make myself trust you, then I would. Because you’re perfect.”

Kenji stared in disbelief at Seung Gil’s words, his lips parted with incredulity over the revelations.

They sat without speaking for a long while, and the emptiness was filled by the inoffensive pop music wafting from the speakers, or the scraping of chairs from the other tables.

After a protracted silence, Kenji gave a helpless laugh and said, “I thought it would be easier to let go if I knew why. That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

Seung Gil gave him a small smile, “I suppose not.”

They looked at each other in silence again, both unsure of how they should move on from this point.

Suddenly, Kenji sat up and piped, “I thought you had a dog?” The question threw Seung Gil completely off guard.

“A dog?”

“A Siberian husky. You said you had a pet,” Kenji said with a soft smile, clearly attempting to clear the air between them, and Seung Gil couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped at the memory of their first meeting.

“She’s back home. In Korea,” he replied, and saw the realization dawn on Kenji over where he was from. It was odd that they'd never talked about it before.

“How did you find out where I live?” he asked after another brief pause.

A rare blush appeared on the little sub’s cheeks, as he said in an embarrassed voice, “I asked Victor if Yuuri knew anyone with your name. He guessed the rest, and asked if I wanted to come along tonight. I know I shouldn’t have, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Clever,” remarked Seung Gil with a smirk, “Very sly.”

As they spoke, Seung Gil gradually realized that their hands were still joined. And he didn’t know when it’d happened, but somehow their fingers were interlaced, clinging lightly together. It felt so natural, so right, and he didn’t want to let go.

Then, he saw a familiar glint appear in Kenji’s eyes, matching the cheeky glimmer of his silver ear hoop. Kenji hesitated only for a brief moment to steal a coy glance at Seung Gil, before adding, “I know I said I didn’t want to change your mind, Sir. But there is an obvious solution to this...if you are interested.”

Seung Gil almost smiled in amusement at Kenji’s antics, he should have anticipated something like this with the little sub. “Go on,” he said, sighing mock exasperation.

“We could get married,” said Kenji matter of factly, and Seung Gil froze in surprise.

“What?”

“We could get married,” repeated Kenji calmly, “It’ll solve everything. You will own half of what I own, so I can’t use that against you. We’ll even be equals in the eyes of the law. You’ll probably have more status in my family than I have anyway, because I was exiled, and you’re a respectable dancer. I don’t see any downside to it.”

Seung Gil couldn’t help the loud laughs that erupted from deep within him, laughter that made tears spring to his eyes, and his sides ache.

When he caught his breath again, he reprimanded gently, “I think it’s much too soon for that, little sub.”

Kenji’s bright smile faded slightly, as he replied in a more serious tone, “But if that’s what it takes to make you trust me, I will do it.”

Seung Gil gazed at him in uncertainty, once again in the grips of conflicting emotions. What would it take for him to forget the past, and move forward?

“You’ve been burnt once before,” he said eventually, “When you were forced to leave Japan because of the scandal. How do you know that I wouldn’t do the same to you?”

“I don’t,” Kenji replied with a small smile on his lips, “But I want to be with you anyway.”

Seung Gil drew their fingers closer together, feeling the gentle squeeze he received in return, his fears crumbling with the willing reciprocation of his touch. For the first time in his life, he found the courage to throw caution to the wind, and said softly,

“Me too.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

They didn’t get married. Even though Kenji had only been half-joking about it. But they did move forward, slowly but surely.

Not that there hadn’t been plenty of slamming doors and cold shoulders, most of which stemmed from Seung Gil’s insistence that he needed some time to break it off with his other subs. Or from the disagreements over the finances of their new arrangement.

Kenji’s insecurities had run amok over the past month, with Seung Gil trying to settle his remaining subs with dominants he could trust, while also avoiding questions of how Kenji would be providing for him, which inevitably led to rampant accusations that he was finding another excuse to run away again.

Eventually, Seung Gil relented on the finances, allowing Kenji to pay for his rent and add him to a shared credit card. While Kenji agreed to stop obsessing over the other subs, or whether Seung Gil was here to stay.

Because he was. And after finally prying himself away from his last, clingiest sub, he was ready.

Tonight would be the first time they appeared in public together as an exclusive couple. It was only a small event, a whisky tasting put together by Victor for a few close colleagues, but Seung Gil wanted to mark the occasion. He wanted Kenji to carry a visible sign of his ownership, a clear reminder of whom he belonged to.

He let himself into Kenji’s flat, and dropped the key with a jangle into a bowl by the door.

The stuffy air in the flat meant that Kenji wasn't home yet, and he placed the small white paper bag, which he'd been carrying around all day, carefully on the kitchen counter, before crossing the room to open the windows.

He was enjoying the gust of a strong wind in his hair, when he heard the door open, and Kenji stepped in, rifling through his mail, with his tie clutched in one hand.

He looked up, and smiled brightly when he saw Seung Gil by the window, “You're here.”

Seung Gil sauntered towards him, drinking in the simple happiness that radiated from Kenji, and said blithely, “Anything interesting in the mail?”

“Yes, actually,”replied Kenji cheerfully, “The invitation for Victor’s engagement party just arrived. It's on the first of April. Would you do me the honour, Sir?”

“On April Fools’?” said Seung Gil quizzically, “I suppose the whole thing _is_ a big joke. I wouldn't mind being there.”

“It is a big joke,” Kenji remarked with a chuckle, “I heard that Mila proposed and made Victor wear an engagement ring. All sounds like nonsense to me, but we can see if the ring is real later this evening.”

Seung Gil stopped in his tracks at the mention of a ring, and he asked urgently, “Is it a platinum wedding band?”

Kenji blinked in surprise, “Yes, that's what I heard. How did you know, Sir?”

Seung Gil smirked as he replied, “Katsuki started wearing one when he returned from Japan.”

“You mean, _Yuuri_ gave it to him?” Kenji exclaimed in sudden realization, and began laughing heartily.

Seung Gil nodded in agreement and slight displeasure. It had to be Katsuki.

He couldn’t believe Katsuki had beaten him to yet another thing, placing his mark on his ill-disciplined sub before Seung Gil could. Not that Katsuki would ever stop being too embarrassed to realize Victor was a sub, but still, it was annoying. At least he wouldn't be too far behind.

He leaned casually against the kitchen counter and reached across it to drag Kenji by his shirt collar into a deep kiss, savouring the delights of the soft, full, willing lips.

When they parted, Kenji was panting and leaning heavily against Seung Gil, his knees had obviously given way.

“I bought you something,” whispered Seung Gil sensuously in Kenji’s ear, and he could feel a small shudder of excitement running through Kenji’s body, clearly recalling some of his _other_ purchases.

He pushed the white paper bag towards Kenji, who carefully fished out a medium-sized box tied with a black ribbon. He gave Seung Gil a curious glance, before slowly untying the ribbon and uncovering the lid to reveal a thin strip of black leather coiled into a neat spiral, embellished only by a silver hoop on one end and a small buckle on the other.

Kenji gently caressed the smooth leather and the cold metal of the silver hoop. He unfurled the collar almost reverentially and traced a finger over the deep imprints where Seung Gil’s name was etched into the leather. His lips were parted in disbelief, as he looked at Seung Gil with wide, astonished eyes.

“Will you wear it?” asked Seung Gil gravely.

“Of course, I will,” gasped Kenji, his chest heaving in anticipation, as he blinked away tears from his eyes.

Seung Gil crossed quickly to the other side of the counter and gently took the collar from Kenji’s trembling fingers. He felt Kenji’s unwavering gaze on him as he lined the soft leather around the base of Kenji’s neck, and deftly secured the buckle, taking care to leave a centimeter of space. Then, he redid the top buttons of Kenji’s shirt, before stepping back to admire his handiwork. He noted with slight smugness that the collar was subtle enough to be worn in public, but not completely obscured by the shirt, especially when Kenji moved his neck.

Kenji lifted his hand and stroked the collar tentatively, as if trying to believe it was real. In a hesitant voice, he asked, “Am I yours now?”

Seung Gil gently tugged him forward by the silver hoop, and captured his lips in possessive kiss. “You are, as long as you don’t take this off.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Seung Gil couldn’t deny that the room they were in was very ornate, and the whiskies they’ve been having were all excellent. But it didn’t stop him from getting restless and drumming his fingers lightly on the table.

He supposed it was worth coming just for the look on Katsuki’s face, especially when he caught sight of the collar. Seung Gil had dared him to make a comment with a glare, as he rested a protective hand on Kenji’s shoulder. He had been fully aware that what he was doing was completely out of his character to Katsuki. But it felt right, uncannily right, to have Kenji lean contentedly into his touch, a warm smile on his face, as he whispered, “You were right, Sir. Their rings match.”

He liked that they were sharing a life, sharing stories and the people in it. Instead of fear, he only saw a future of possibilities, and the possibilities were endless, filled with so many things they could explore together. Like finding a restaurant they could try. Or maybe a new country they’d both never been to. Or a new implement they could experiment with, which was already a frequent occurrence.

Oh, the things he could _do_ to the little sub.

Whoever thought that commitment would kill the romance must be wrong, because he hadn’t been able to stop himself from picturing all sorts of imaginative, wicked ways he could have with the little sub since the tasting started.

His situation was not helped by the warm press of Kenji’s leg next to his under the table, or the playful brushes against his hand amidst the lively chatter, or the flashes of black leather that peeped through the top of Kenji’s shirt as he moved.

When the whisky expert had poured out the last whisky, Seung Gil was more than ready to leave. He took a quick sip and leaned over to hiss dangerously in Kenji’s ear, “You better not have any plans to stay for much longer after this.”

He heard a hitch in Kenji’s breath, as he replied quickly, “Consider them cancelled, Sir.”

True to his word, they left soon after the last whisky, stopping only to thank Victor for arranging the event.

As soon as they were alone in the darkness of the flat, Seung Gil pushed Kenji into the hard surface of the door and devoured his lips hungrily, gripping his hands high above his head.

“Shall we try something different tonight?” asked Seung Gil seductively, and received an immediate nod of agreement.

He led them to the bedroom, and slowly began undressing Kenji, kissing and caressing every inch of his exposed skin. Kenji squirmed in anticipation, breathing heavily, his eyes glazed over in arousal and impatience.

“Kneel on the bed,” Seung Gil commanded, as he removed his own top, and walked over to his cabinet of toys. The doors parted to reveal a neat array of tools and contraptions, large and small. But he ignored those and pulled open a drawer containing his various ropes and chains, and selected three long coils of red hemp rope.

He returned to find Kenji already kneeling meekly on the bed, his arms crossed behind his back, shivering slightly from the cold air and his excitement. He was in the perfect position, and Seung Gil planted a soft kiss on his lips while gently cupping his face, and asked, “What’s your safe word?”

“Red,” replied Kenji obediently.

“Good.”

He began by looping the rope around Kenji’s crossed arms, holding them in place behind his back, then tightly encircling his upper torso, making intricate knots as he went, admiring the contrast of the blood red rope against the paleness of Kenji’s skin. He was careful with his work, making sure the rope pressed against the known points of pleasure without cutting off any major circulation. He could hear Kenji’s breath slowing to a calm and steady pace, his eyes stayed closed as Seung Gil wrapped the remaining length around his lower torso.

Gently, he guided Kenji onto his back, and pressed his knees into his chest, binding his ankles and knees to his thighs, and passing the rope into the bindings in the upper torso, holding his legs apart in the air. In a spark of inspiration, Seung Gil passed the remaining lengths of rope through Kenji’s collar, which gave him a convenient handhold.

When his work was done, Kenji had a look of serene euphoria on his face, his body held open and immobile by the strands of scarlet snaking across his skin, leaving deep imprints in its wake. There was no fear or doubt in his complete vulnerability, only a willing, whole-hearted submission, and he shivered in pleasure as Seung Gil ran his hand over Kenji’s body, tugging the ropes at certain points to increase the pressure, whispering words of praise.

He gave a shuddering gasp when Seung Gil wrapped his mouth over the tip of Kenji’s cock and pushed a lubed finger into his entrance. Seung Gil kept the stimulation at an agonizingly slow pace, delighted at the helpless whimpers that were escaping from Kenji’s lips.

“Please, Sir,” he eventually cried out.

Seung Gil smiled at the desperate begging, and moved away completely from Kenji, whose cries became more frantic. He took his time in fully undressing, and unrolling a condom onto his own hard cock, coating it generously with lube.

When he returned, he knelt before the helpless figure, and began pushing into Kenji’s entrance without warning, extracting cries of surprise, pain and pleasure at the invasion. He felt the ring of muscles pop around the tip of his cock, but instead of allowing the muscles to accommodate the strain, he pushed forward unrelentingly, feeling the ripples of violent spasms along his length. Just how the little sub liked it.

When he was fully seated, he gripped the length of rope tied to Kenji’s collar and pulled him forward for a deep, possessive kiss. Then, he began receding gradually, eliciting mindless moans from the little sub, and teased him by withdrawing completely. The mewls of protest had barely escaped him, when Seung Gil plunged back in again, his fingers digging into Kenji’s shoulders, as he began setting an almost brutal pace.

Kenji’s frenzied cries took on a heightened tone of ecstasy from the heady mix of pain and pleasure. Pain from the biting of the ropes into his skin, and the punishing ravage of his entrance. Pleasure from the delicious stretch and the flaring of nerves deep within him. Seung Gil felt his mind unhinging from the explosion of sensations, as he dipped in and out of the hot tightness of Kenji’s clenching muscles. His relentless pounding drew senseless moans from the both of them, their bodies slick with sweat, their minds blinded by the euphoric pleasure.

It wasn’t long before he felt Kenji tensing beneath him, squirming against the bindings, mindlessly calling out his name, and knew they were both close. He gripped Kenji’s neglected cock, and stroked it in time with his deep, hard thrusts. Kenji soon came with a loud cry, releasing warm spurts into his hand. He released his grip, and pulled Kenji closer by his collar, enveloping him in a protective embrace. The spasming convulsions around him finally tipped Seung Gil over the edge, and he came soon after, feeling the come drawn out of him by the residual rippling of Kenji’s orgasm.

They both collapsed into the bed, chests heaving in ragged breaths, with Kenji still held limply in his arms.

It was a while before Seung Gil stirred from his hazy trance, and felt himself slip out of Kenji’s clutching entrance. Shakily, he rose to his feet and discarded the used condom, before returning with a warm cloth to clean up the aftermath, and gradually undid the knots that kept the little sub immobilised. When the bonds were removed, he unbuckled the collar and placed it carefully on the bedside table. Gently, he caressed the reddened skin that was patterned with dark lines of rope, slowly easing the circulation back into Kenji’s body, whispering praises and comfort as Kenji surfaced into semi-consciousness.

The air in the room began to feel chilly as they receded from the heights of passion, and Seung Gil realised the duvet was teetering on edge of the bed from the rigors of their activities. But when he moved to rescue it, Kenji suddenly clutched his hand tightly, and uttered in a panicked voice, “Stay! Please don't go.”

Seung Gil dragged the duvet over the both of them and settled the half-conscious Kenji back to sleep, running a soothing hand over the covers, as he muttered reassuringly, “Go to sleep, little sub. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

~*~*~*Three years later~*~*~*

 

A salty breeze from the Hasetsu ocean rustled through the cacophony of flowers and sheer gossamer drapes. Ushers were attempting to show the guests to their seats, but none of them seemed ready to settle down just yet, as they crisscrossed the large white canvas covering the sandy floor, beneath a towering canopy laden with shimmering crystals.

Kenji was guilty of the same, clinging lightly to Seung Gil’s arm as they wove through the guests, stopping every three steps to greet someone he knew, which was a surprisingly large number, given that many of the guests were Seung Gil’s old classmates. In fact, the whole wedding was turning out to be an unofficial Juilliard reunion of sorts, filling the air with the excited squealing and raucous laughter of friends catching up after three years since they were scattered across the world.

Kenji could see that his Master was starting to weary of the incessant small talk, seeming more interested in eavesdropping on his brother and sister-in-law, who were following a few paces behind them, giggling as they tried to differentiate the flurry of names and faces, muttering bits of phrases like “No, no. That’s not Richardo. It’s the other one. The tall one.”

Seung Gil’s tone was becoming dangerously stormy, his distaste apparent as he repeated the words, “Yes, we still live in New York. No, we don’t really know anyone from Juilliard there anymore. Yes, I’m still with the same dance troupe and yes, Kenji is still working for his father’s company.” While Kenji tried to embellish the monotonous account with more exciting details, like the fact that they’ve had to move because they adopted another puppy, or that Seung Gil had been promoted to lead dancer recently, or that they’ll be staying on in Japan for another two weeks for a holiday.

Kenji knew that he was already in deep, deep trouble for subjecting his Master to tedious social conventions. But he couldn’t help it. Phichit really had outdone himself with the lavish decor, which enshrouded their surroundings with a glimmering, magical quality, almost like a fairytale, giving him an extra exuberance that he was sure to pay for later.

The guests only began to pay attention to the ushers when Phichit finally emerged and announced that the ceremony was about to start. At which point, Seung Gil hurried them to their seats and sat down with a huff.

“You’re becoming old and crabby, Sir,” said Kenji with cheeky grin.

“Careful, little sub,” Seung Gil warned with a glare, the predatory glint in his eyes already alight with the promise of pain.

Kenji quickly ducked his head in deference, trying to calm his quickening pulse, and muttered, “Sorry, Sir.” Fully aware that even after all these years, his Master was still wickedly creative in his punishments.  

He stole a upward glance, and saw a small smile tugging at Seung Gil’s lips, hinting that his apology seemed to have worked, albeit, temporarily, and his let out a small sigh of relief. He couldn’t even imagine being punished right here in the open.

As he leaned over to check on Kenichi and his wife before the ceremony started, he felt the familiar, comforting grip on his shoulder, and melted into the touch, still cherishing the wordless connection they always seemed to crave.

He could feel Seung Gil gently caressing the soft leather that was peeping through the top of his shirt, making him keenly conscious of the black collar around his neck. He never took it off, except reluctantly when he went to bed or took a shower. Seung Gil had made it _very_ clear about the last two exceptions.

He kept it on at all other times. At work, at the gym, at social events, sometimes openly when they went out. It was a declaration of whom he belonged to, and he loved the proud look of satisfaction that his Master had when he caught sight of it.

Kenji had deliberately made no effort to hide it when he brought Seung Gil home to meet his parents. He hadn’t been sure whether they fully understood what it meant, but they seemed to know enough to keep eyeing it suspiciously, while glancing furtively at the possessive arm that Seung Gil had held around him the entire time. It was refreshing not to have them bring up his silver ear loop again, or the fact that he hadn’t yet brought home a sweet Japanese girl. Those were the least of their worries now.

A familiar tune rang from the speakers surrounding them, reminding him of Yuuri’s Love piece from years ago. The guests were invited to stand, and a tense half-balding man took his place at the podium, crushing his notes in his hands.

Seung Gil gently took Kenji’s hand in his, as they stood watching the happy couple walking down the aisle under the loving gazes of their well-wishers, the air thick with overflowing joy. His Master was surveying the ample tears and saccharine sweetness of the moment with a skeptical look, which made Kenji smile in amusement. He supposed having a large, glittery fairy-tale wedding was not to everyone’s taste. Victor Nikiforov was undoubtedly one such person, aided and abetted by one Phichit Chulanont. Seung Gil was most definitely not.

He saw a smirk appear on Seung Gil’s lips as he leaned in to whisper in Kenji’s ear, “I _much_ prefer our wedding.”

Kenji smiled shyly at him, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks at the mention of their week-old secret, his heart almost painful with joy.

“Me too,” he replied in a breathless voice that could barely contain his happiness.

They couldn’t help that word would soon get out when they returned to New York. But for now, it felt like a closed-off world that only the two of them knew about, a secret life they shared that he wanted to treasure and nurture before subjecting it to prying eyes.

It should have been terrifying, to embark on this journey, to entrust another person, not just with your past and present, but your future.

But there hadn’t been fear, only the courage of fools. Fools who risked terrible pain for unbearable happiness, and he was glad to be one of them.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's interested, here's the video that inspired the whole atmosphere of the Shibari scene: [ Study on Falling. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KJa-AxCJag)Really like how carefully everything was done, and how peaceful the performer looks.
> 
> All comments appreciated and welcomed!  
> Hopefully the epilogue will be uploaded as planned next weekend :D  
> Also, I'm on [tumblr ](https://weberina.tumblr.com/)! Come and chat <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> All comments welcomed!  
> And come chat on [tumblr ](https://weberina.tumblr.com/)!


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